One Thousand Cranes
by Skyskater
Summary: I see people shoot each other all the time over a few drinks, and I don't care. But there was one man who changed me, one man who tried to save me. And failed. For yukidaru.
1. Introduction

**This is the Grimmjow POV of my other story, The ER. Once again, this has happened to me in real life; my friend died a few weeks ago due to Choriocarcinoma. So, don't think this can't happen, because it can. **

**Written for yukidaru, who said it seemed as though The ER was Ulquiorra's love towards Grimmjow and that it seemed like a one-sided relationship.**

* * *

I shook the martini around in the mixer, looking absentmindedly out over the vibrating throng splayed out in front of me. I poured the apple martini in a glass, pushed it toward some guy who I had no inclination to know, and got some money. Yeah, sure, being a bartender wasn't all that boring, but it wasn't all that fun or life-changing either. This was just a gig for now...I figured I'd find something better later.

My boyfriend Ichigo worked as a dancer here in Dying Sun, the name of this nightclub. And I worked here as a bartender, because I had nothing better to do. What else was I supposed to do in this small godforsaken excuse for a town? I certainly couldn't land a job at the ER or anything. I'm not medically talented, and heck, it takes me like, five minutes just to get a Band-Aid over a papercut. And being the mailman just doesn't have that same ring as 'Grimmjow the Bartender' for me.

"Hey, hot stuff," one man says to me, a guy with brown hair and black eyes who I've never seen before.  
"Yeah, not like I can say the same 'bout you." With a hurt look the guy wanders off, and several other people at the bar snicker.

I stretch and yawn. It's three in the morning, and people are still partying like there's no tomorrow. I mean, I can understand the people who want to gawk at the dancers, because don't get me wrong, those dancers are HAWT. Like Ichigo. Except our relationship isn't the kind of relationship that's always described in books, where you fall in true love with someone and you never ever look at anyone else again. It didn't feel like that, which made me think that Ichigo and I would get broken up sometime in the near future. And, in all honesty, it didn't matter to me whether we broke up or not.

I'm a bartender in Dying Sun because Ichigo works here, and because he's needy. Because he doesn't want me to work anywhere else so that he can keep an eye on me to make sure I'm not cheating on him or anything. I'll admit the hours aren't great, working as a bartender here, but it's not actually that bad. You get people drunk and don't get in trouble if they crash their cars later on! Plus you get money for shaking around a mixer with liquor and ice in it. So...I mean, it's pretty easy.

Yeah, sure, there are barfights and all the usual stuff, when someone gets way too drunk and someone says something insulting. And then I have to go and break them up. Sometimes they're violent, like with knives and broken glass and stuff like that, and those times I can get hurt pretty badly. Most of the time, though, they're just punches and stuff, and I can live with that. I'm a tough guy. I mean, I guess you have to be when you're a bartender. You have to know when a person's just drunk enough to totter out the door, but not too drunk that they insinuate a bar fight that has everybody at the bar throwing glass at each other. You have to know how certain people hold their liquor. And all right, I admit it. Sometimes it's really hard to tell. But I figure it's not too bad of a job.

Sure, I've had to go to the ER a few times for stab wounds and stuff like that. That's kind of rare here, because every guy and girl thinks I'm "hot" and should be one of the dancers, and so don't want to hurt me. But then you always get the overly sadistic one who just wants to pierce you, to claim you in some way, and then everything pretty much goes downhill and results in said customer being booted out onto the street. Plus, I couldn't be a dancer anyway. I can't dance worth shit. And doing twirls around a pole in a thong and a pair of jeans doesn't seem like my idea of a good night, thank you very much. Ichigo likes it. I have no idea why.

I'm fascinated with the ER. It's touch and go. It seems a helluva lot more interesting than working as a bartender in a seedy nightclub. Not to mention there's this guy that I've seen around there a few times. I don't know what his name is, where he lives, WHO he is, even, other than the fact that he's an ER surgeon, but he's pretty damn hot. And he looks like the kind of guy I'd click well with.

He's about a head shorter than me, with almost-shoulder-length shaggy black hair. He has these big, dark green eyes that are just adorable, and he has these scars going down from his eyes to the end of his face. I don't know where he got those scars, but goddamn, they're sexy. They make him look like he's crying; they make me want to kiss the "tears" away. There was just something about him, you know? Like when you see that one person on the street that you keep seeing over and over again, then you finally meet up with them at some place, and you get to talking, and you're all, "Whoa! Why didn't we start talking BEFORE?" Yeah. That's how it felt. I really don't know what it was. Sure, he looked sexy and everything, but he had this quiet sort of personality that would support you no matter what you were going through. He had a dry sense of humor, a good head on his shoulders, knew when to be emotional and when to be strong. I can't pinpoint exactly what drew us together, but it may have been something along those lines that first attracted me to him. And I suppose my problems helped us get together, too.

My name is Grimmjow Jeagerjacques. I'm...hmm. Dead, for lack of a better status. I'm not depressed that I'm dead, no. Why, you ask? Because of the man I mentioned in the above paragraph and because of how he changed my life. Let me tell you the story of a certain Mr. Ulquiorra Schiffer, and his brave and courageous struggle to save me during my battle with testicular cancer.

* * *

**The ER and One Thousand Cranes are strongly related. You'll see, if you read the chapters, that they're highly similar. This is just from Grimmjow's POV.**


	2. The First Encounter

**It's a bit harder to write this story this time around because the wounds aren't as fresh anymore...**

**For those who don't know because they haven't bothered to check out The ER, one of my best friends was taken by the Lord due to cancer a few months ago. So this is based off a real life experience.**

* * *

Yeah, I'd seen the guy around the ER before. God knows I was there often enough, what with stopping the barfights and all that. However, he'd never actually had the chance to operate on me, and so I'd never actually had the chance to be in close proximity with him. The only contact we made was when our eyes made contact that one time. He was walking through the hallway, sipping a paper cup of water, and our eyes met. Then his turned away. As if he was embarrassed.

The first time we actually talked, the first time we actually met each other, was because of...wait for it...you guessed it. Another barfight. Except this time I had been stabbed in the chest with a knife. It wasn't serious. It was just bleeding a lot. It hadn't punctured anything major, because, well, I could still breathe, I could still walk, and I could still talk. Of course, I was a little dizzy what with the blood loss and everything, but you know how it is.

Anyway, the brawl had started because one man had gotten too drunk and another one had made a racist comment or something. I got in the middle, stopped it, and consequently got stabbed. Ichigo practically screamed, grabbed me, and rushed me to the ER. Now, mind you, Ichigo doesn't like the sight of blood. So he's running through the streets with me, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a thong. Yeah...we got quite a few stares as we ran down the block toward the hospital....

Ichigo had been booted out of the operating room because he was bawling his lungs out. And...well, this was exactly what I had been waiting for. To be in close proximity with this one man. Ulquiorra Schiffer.

He injected me with this drug, I think it was called Emmalax or something like that, and it made my body numb so that I didn't feel anything when his needle went through my skin to sew up the gaping wound in my chest. And I initiated the conversation, simply because it looked like he wasn't the type to start a conversation.

"So, then, is it bad?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow.  
"No. You'll live." His voice was quiet, soft, and with a little hint of a husky rasp that just made it all the more endearing and sexy. I just wanted to gather him up in my arms and cuddle him like a teddy bear. Now, you gotta understand, people, I didn't love Ichigo the way he loved me. I was just in this relationship with him to humor him. And yeah, maybe that would have been mean. But he was threatening to jump off a cliff if I refused him. So, really, what was I gonna do?

"What's with all the rush then?"  
"First, there are other patients BESIDES you. You just got priority because you were stabbed. Second, I'm going to stitch you up so that you don't lose too much blood."

"Ah. I see."

I guess there were supposed to be nurses helping him stitch me up or something. One of them walked by the door. Probably to get a refill on coffee or to shake the vending machine in the hopes of getting a free soda. But then, just as the click clack of her heels passed the room, she popped her head in and said, "You don't get that very often. A drunk who can talk straight, eh, Schiffer? Not like his lover out in the waiting room." At the word 'lover,' I think I saw a flash of jealousy pass across his eyes. I'm pretty good at reading people. You have to be when you're a bartender.

After she passed, he rolled his eyes (god, that was hot) and calmly started to stitch up the cut on my chest. I watched him.

"This what you do all day?" I asked.  
"Not all day. Just from now until 11." He said it like it didn't matter. Like it didn't matter that he sacrificed many of his nightly hours to be sewing up people.  
"Wow...that's like, almost twelve hours right there. How the fuck do you manage to do that?"  
He appeared to be thinking about it, his hands moving as though he didn't really have to think what to do. "I don't know. I just do it."

"I'd probably go freaking insane if I worked here." It was the truth. I'm used to vibes and the smell of vodka; not silence and the smell of lemon floor polisher.

"It's not too bad. You get used to it after a while, I suppose. Please stay still."

He leaned closer. I smiled, and then laughed. He was getting embarrassed, I could tell. God, he was just so adorable. And sensitive, too. You don't get very many sensitive guys that also happen to be adorable, like he was. I guess he was just one of a kind. You know how it is. Basically, if you're not in a relationship right now, let me sum it up to you in terms of food: There is the chocolate that you have a lot of, but it's not very tasty. And then you get that one piece of chocolate that is just incredibly amazing and delicious. That's what Ulquiorra was. The piece of good chocolate in a pile of crappy ones.

"You know," I said, as indifferently as I could make it, so that it didn't seem as though I really cared about what I was saying, "I'd get into more barfights if I knew I'd be in this position every time I came here." I looked at him then. Straight in his eyes. And it seemed as though I could see into his very soul. Ulquiorra's rather an open person once you get close to him. You can't see him from far away, but up close...man, the view is breathtaking.

"You're actually pretty fine for someone who works in the ER. I mean, seriously. You don't look like those people who have some serious mental issues that work here, ya know? The ones who laugh at nothing and then talk to themselves while they're stitching someone up and look like they have major cases of bedhead. I'd tap ya."

That was the truth. Seriously. And I meant it. Sure, I've told a bunch of people that 'I'd tap them' for extra money or a tip, but that was different. This time, I meant it both physically and mentally. I would love to make love with him, but, at the same token, I would love to get deeper into that soul of his, would love to see what he's like on the inside. And I guess I knew that he was different. That he was special. That he was something worth living for.

He looked flustered at that. "That will be a hundred dollars; please wait here while I go get your paperwork." Heck, everything about him was adorable! Even his stutter, even his blush, even the way his shoes squeaked slightly on the floor. I was in love. Madly. Not lust, which I had been in plenty of times, not like, which was like lust, but seriously in love. It was like getting high without the weed.

He came back after a few minutes, and said, "Well, Mr..." I get that problem a lot. You know. Where people can't pronounce your last name. So I decided to help him out a little bit.

"Jeagerjacques. As in Gee-Grr-Jacks."  
"Right. Well, Mr. Jeagerjacques, you will need to come back next week to have your stitches removed."

Ichigo entered at that precise point. Just when the atmosphere was starting to lighten up a little. He had been out in the waiting room for all of fifteen minutes, and God, it looked like he'd cried out his heart and soul into an armrest or something.

"Thanks," he said to Ulquiorra, smiling coldly.

I followed him, pushing the clipboard gently back into his chest, and my hand brushed ever so slightly against his elbow (PHYSICAL CONTACT!! Grimmjow: 1. Ulquiorra: 0.) as I sidled around him and out the door. "Well, then, Mr. Schiffer, I sincerely hope that we meet again," I said, grinning once again as emerald eyes clashed against neon blues.

* * *

Of course, karma was a bitch to me. When wasn't it? Even as I uttered those words, I knew that something bad was going to happen.

Yeah. I'll admit it, okay? If I had never seen him again, but if he had lived a happy life, a life without heartbreak, I'd have traded it all for that. I'd have given up my one chance at true love, just to see him live a good life without heartbreak. A good life without all the tears that I'd brought into it. A good life where there were no devastating occurrences.

I'd have been glad to forego my one chance at love, if only it would have spared him a broken heart.


	3. Diagnosis

About a month went by after I first actually had physical contact with him. ...Okay, if you can consider me touching his elbow as physical contact. Whatever. But I doubted he remembered me. After all, I was just another one of those barfight patients that I'm pretty sure he gets all too often, seeing as how Dying Sun isn't that far from the ER. For health-related reasons. To him, I was probably just a nobody. A nobody who got into a tussle. Well, alright. Probably the only nobody in this godforsaken town with blue hair.

The next time we met, it was at a clinic. I guess he was doing some sort of rotation thingy. You know, as part of his fellowship or whatever you call those things that surgeons do as part of their training. God. If I had a choice, I think I'd rather be in the ER. I mean, in a clinic, basically what everybody there does is just give little kids their flu shots and whatnot. The ER seems like a way more interesting place to be.

I guess I was pretty lucky he was on that rotation when I went there a month later. Otherwise, I guess I never would have seen him again. And I wanted to see him again. I mean, I'd broken up with Ichigo...well, rather, he'd broken up with me because I couldn't give him sex anymore. That little slut. I didn't exactly know the reasons for it all, but...well, let's just say they were rather bad. And the circumstances I saw Ulquiorra under weren't the best...but, well, they were there.

* * *

I will say one thing for him, though: Ulquiorra was very calm throughout all of this. Sure, he could get a bit snappy sometimes, when he was really worried or really stressed, but he was very calm throughout all of this. I think he was putting on a brave face, because, well, there had to be someone strong in our relationship. And I didn't exactly fit that bill during that time.

* * *

When we met again, it was Christmas. He was passing through the lobby to get a cup of water from the water dispenser. He saw me out of the corner of his eye, and promptly dropped his paper cup, splashing the tiles with water.

Their clinic was one of the few clinics that were actually open on Christmas. I figured, "Hey, there's nobody to spend Christmas with, anyway, so I might as well get this problem of mine checked up, right?" and they just happened to be open. And he just happened to be there. It was coincidence. I filled out my paperwork, gave it to the receptionist, who gave it to Ulquiorra, whose mouth was open. She said, "Jesus, don't catch flies there, alright?"

I wanted to laugh. I really really did. But I figured he'd probably had enough shock for one day; I didn't need to add humiliation to it, too. Once again, I was under his care. And I wanted to be under his care, 365 days a year (366 on leap years) just to be in close contact with him. However, this time...I wasn't so sure about that last statement.

* * *

"So, Mr. Jeagerjacques," he began.  
"Just call me Grimmjow already," I said, looking at him. He looked exactly the same as he had last time, except he didn't look quite so pale.

"Alright, Grimmjow, so can you tell me why you're here today?" God...that voice...it just made me melt.  
"It's on the paper." Master of the Obvious right there. Can you tell?  
"Yes, I realize that, but I would like to hear you say it."

"Well then, Dr. Schiffer. I've been having...pain in, like, my lower stomach and that place between your legs where you're not supposed to feel pain unless someone's kicked you there, I'm tired all the time even though I get lots of sleep, I have not had interest in sex, which is pretty rare for me, and when I do have sex, there's blood. Oh yeah, AND I'm single. Just comes with the package of sexual withdrawal, I guess." That's what I'd said.

I know I was flirting with him at the time. Because, in all honesty, even though I didn't know him quite as well as I should have been to be flirting with him, I really, really wanted to date him. To fall in love - no, screw that - to know that he loved me back, just as much as I loved him. To bed him. And all that other stuff that lovey dovey couples do. That Ichigo and I never did.

"Alright then. About how long ago did this pain start?" he asked.  
"About...a month, month and a half ago."  
"AND YOU DIDN'T COME SOONER?!" It was a whisper-shout, but in that instant, with his words, with the flash of anxiety and worry in his emerald eyes, I knew. I knew he cared.

"Well, I didn't think it was serious!"

"You RETARD! If you're having pain in your lower stomach and groin for a month and a half that NEVER went away, wouldn't you think something was wrong?" Yup. He definitely cared. And it made my heart go woozy.

"Well, no..."

He was mad at me. I could tell. But...this kind of mad, the worried kind of mad, God. I fell even more in love with him at that moment than I think I've ever been in love with anybody else. (Grimmjow: 1. Ulquiorra: 1.)

He went and filled out my electronic form, not talking to me, and I was lonely. I really, really didn't want him to be angry with me. Alright. I admit it. I was stupid as a pig trying to fool itself that it could look up into the sky. (Pigs can't look up into the sky. It's impossible.) He left the room, and I think I was on the verge of tears there. Well, the tears made its way onto my eyelashes, but I didn't let them fall. I hated myself. Hated myself for not coming sooner, hated myself for making him hate me. Well, alright, not hate me, exactly, but dislike me. That's probably a better term. Because I don't believe you can fall in love with someone you hate, and, well, he fell in love with me. Just as much as I did with him.

* * *

He came back into the room with this guy that looked a lot like Ichigo, except he had a tattoo on one arm and he had black hair. His name was Dr. Kaien Shiba. And I guess he was a urologist, or whatever that fancy name card thing he had on this jacket said. He looked really calm, and that calmed me down, too. And Ulquiorra looked "cooled-off", so to speak. So I figured I was okay. For the time being.

"Mr. Jeagerjacques, considering the symptoms you have undergone, it was quite, to put it frankly, idiotic -" Yeah, yeah. I know. Jesus. Thanks to everybody who called me an idiot. I really feel the love there.

"Yes, I know. Dr. Schiffer here has already chewed me out. So what do I have?"  
"As of right now, I could be wrong, it appears as though you have testicular cancer."

"...In ENGLISH please?" I knew what he was saying. I just didn't want to accept it.

"Okay. Basically, you have a malignant - harmful - growth in one of your testicles."  
"...like that one biker dude?"

"Yes, like Lance Armstrong. But anyway, there is a malignant growth in one of them and this is causing your symptoms. Assuming that it has not metastasized, or spread to other parts of your body, we will be able to cure you. Yes, you will be short one, but you'll still be able to lead a perfectly normal life and you will still be able to have children. HOWEVER, we would need you to undergo several tests so that we could determine the location of this tumor and the size. We would also need you to take CT scans to see if the cancer has spread. We would also need a blood test from you."

Alright. I admit it. It was a bit...stressing. But...well, what was I to do? There was nothing I could do, and that was simple fact.

"So...can you just give me the percentage of survival?"  
"Since I do not know what stage your cancer is in because we have not conducted any tests yet, I would say that you have a 90 percent or more chance of survival. But we are not sure at this current point."

* * *

Ninety percent seemed like an excellent percentage to me. Heck, that was an A on a test in school! But this wasn't school. This was real life. And, I guess, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I could always be one of the ten percent. But the rest of my mind refused to accept this, refused to believe that I could die. You know how it is, when you're young, you think you're invincible, and then WHAM! Karma comes and gives you a huge bitchslap to the face to put you back in your proper place.

And you don't get a second chance.

That's what the ten percent was. And...well, let's just say I got an F in life. Instead of an A.


	4. Nine Months

I was shell-shocked. I mean, a guy tells you that you have cancer, and who WOULDN'T be scared for their lives? Well, I mean, I had a ninety percent chance of survival. That was pretty good. But, of course, my entire life was pretty much an epic fail. I couldn't do anything right, it seemed. I suppose someone up here had a pretty weird sense of humor. But yeah.

I think it started when I was born. When I was born, the doctors, at first, couldn't tell whether I was a boy or a girl. So, after much contemplation and shouting at each other, apparently they finally decided that I was a boy. Which, gratefully, I am. A few years later, I conked my head on the corner of our marble fireplace at home and needed to get stitches. And the carpet had to be changed, because the bloodstains weren't going to be coming out any time soon. Then, as a teenager, I almost got shot by my old man, who had had one too many drinks and grabbed the gun for no particular reason. But somebody up here was screwing around with me for kicks.

But whatever. None of those things killed me. The cancer was what did me in.

In between Christmas and Easter of the next year, I was antsy all the time. I had cancer, and heck, I was seriously worried for myself. I was also scared that Ulquiorra and I would never meet again, so scared, in fact, that I debated shooting myself just so I could have an excuse to go to the ER in a vain attempt to see him. Yeah. Alright. I admit it. I was selfish. Happy now?

So I went and fell down the stairs. Not on purpose, but on accident. But I cut my forehead on the corner of one of the stairs - hey, those stairs were pretty damn sharp, okay? - and then I was all, "Okay. I'm going to the ER. I can't slap a Band-Aid on this big boy." So I drove over to the ER and bingo, guess who was there? Yup. That's right.

So I got checked in, and he stitched me up. I stared at him, and I could tell I was making him slightly uncomfortable. But hey. If I wanted to look, I would look. And he was freaking gorgeous. He bit down on his bottom lip gently in this really cute, uke-ish kind of way, and that made me smile. Gods...what I wouldn't have given to have stayed alive, to have stayed with him...

"So, how you been...Dr?" I asked.  
"Just call me Ulquiorra already. God knows you're in here enough," he replied. This made me smile.  
"Alright then. Ulquiorra. How are you?"  
"I'm fine. And you?"  
"I'm all right."

"And...what of the cancer?" The fact that he was even asking was just incredible to me.  
"Well, I am now minus a ball, but I think you already know that. Um...turns out that the cancer meta..meta...that really long fancy word for the cancer spreading to other parts of your body." Great, Grimmjow, I told myself. You just sounded like a complete idiot. (Grimmjow: 1. Ulquiorra: 2.)

I watched him for a moment. He was worried, that much I could tell. I'm pretty good at reading people, and I could tell that he was worried and trying to hide it.

"Oh, look at you, that's precious! You're worried about me!" I said, smirking.  
"No, I'm not. It would be very unprofessional for an ER surgeon to worry about a patient," he said, in that snippy kind of way.  
"Well then...what say you that after your shift ends at eleven, we be unprofessional and have lunch somewhere? My treat. I know you gotta have a whole shitload of student loans anyway." He raised an eyebrow. I bet he was wondering exactly how in the heck I remembered what time he got off work.

One of the nurses looked into the room and told me, "Oh, Ulquiorra would LOVE to go with you!" before he could answer. Not like I would have taken no for an answer, anyways.

"Well, then, that's great!" I said, grinning up at him from where I was.  
"Okay. Fine. Whatever. Just let me finish stitching you up and then we'll talk about it."

He finished, charged me, and it was over. Then we went out to lunch. Hell, if Ulquiorra didn't already know what the frick was going on, I've got to commend him for total and complete obliviousness. Because it was a date. Yes, that's right. A date. Not a one night stand, but an actual, real date, where both people had some attraction to each other.

It was nice. Very nice. I was happy, and I could tell he was too. During the dates that followed, we shared hugs, kisses, keys, beds, things like that. And while I waited for him to get off his shift during the ER, while he went to Dying Sun and just sat on a barstool and watched me mix drinks before he had to go to work, the cancer was almost forgotten between the both of us.

* * *

I wish I'd spent more time with him. I don't know how that would have been possible, but I wish I had.

I held back information from him, so that I wouldn't hurt him. I knew he was tired enough what with his shifts and all that, and I didn't want to stress him any further for fear that he would snap. And, of course, as all bad things do, he found out about it sooner or later. From no one else than Stark, my cancer specialist.

Why he didn't bother to check the medical records, I will never know. But that's the way it was.

Needless to say, when I'd first heard the news, I'd freaked out. When I heard Stark say that I had Stage IV Testicular Choriocarcinoma, a word that I couldn't even PRONOUNCE, I knew there was something freaking wrong with me. When he said that there were only four stages of cancer, I wanted to cry. When he told me an estimate - nine months - I stood up, calmly walked out of the office, drove my car back to the house that Ulquiorra and I now shared, collapsed onto the couch, and screamed my lungs out.

The neighbors probably heard me. The cry of a dying soul wanting to leave its mark on the Earth.

And sooner or later, Ulquiorra found out. And at that point, I had calmed down, and I comforted him while he freaked out. It was ironic. But I didn't care anymore.

* * *

I spent most of my spare time praying.

Of course, God didn't answer. Probably to punish me for something wrong I had done before. What that would be, I don't exactly know.

But I screwed up somewhere along the way, and it came back to bite me in the ass.


	5. Our Blog

In truth, I can't exactly remember what happened. It's like how when you're thirteen and you can't remember what happened when you were three and you're all, "Huh?" when another relative asks you about that one time when you did that one thing at that one place. Yeah. It was like that.

Ulquiorra must have been scared out of his mind. I had been admitted to the hospital a few days before the first major incident happened, and he worked at the ER, like normal. I had had to quit my bartending job, much to the chagrin of many a few bar frequenters, so I was pretty much alone during the night and half of the day. The few days I had in the hospital before the big thing happened, I had a fever, was on lots of medication that I can't even begin to count or try to pronounce, and we weren't really able to talk with each other. Or, at least, I wasn't able to really talk to him without babbling on about something not relevant to the subject or whatever. But I do remember him telling me that we would pull through this and that we would live long and happily together after all this was over. I appreciated the effort.

I got my scans daily, and most of the time, it didn't really matter to me what was on them. Maybe it was because I didn't really care, because I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that I was going to die anyway. I told the speicalists and oncologists that I didn't want them to call Ulquiorra because he was probably sleeping and needed his rest if he was going to save more lives that night, but that time, the first big thing that happened, I guess they did.

And, like I said, this is the part where things start to blank. I can't remember anything of the next few hours clearly. I remember seeing Stark hovering over me, a surgical mask on his face and knots of concentration between his eyebrows. I remember seeing tubes filled with reddish clear liquid and wondering, stupidly, if that was some kind of juice. I remember seeing Ulquiorra's face, eyebrows knit in worry, emerald eyes looking at me as though they would never be able to look at me again. I remember hearing my heart monitor blipping away beside my bed. I remember feeling Ulquiorra's ice-cold (it was probably a normal temperature) hand holding mine.

And when I woke up again, I was pretty damn sore, pretty medicated, and pretty sad that Ulquiorra had to suffer all of this for me. Sometimes I wonder whether it would have been better if we had never met, if it would have been better for him not to have gotten attached to me. Because if he hadn't, if he had never worked on me at the ER that one time, if Ichigo and I had never broken up, then Ulquiorra would never have had suffered heartbreak for me.

* * *

But anyway, after I woke up, he talked to me about starting a blog to monitor my condition and such. I readily agreed, because at that point, if anything could help Ulquiorra, such as sharing the burden with other people in our community, then I was willing to try it.

The blog attracted all kinds of visitors, from long-term survivors of cancer to people whose loved ones were suffering from cancer. Our community started events like 'Run Strong' fundraisers and people donated things like gas cards and money and food to us. They even sent hats for me (I'd had to shave off all my nice blue hair due to the cancer) and really good meals which were WAY better than that hospital crap they fed me. But it was good, because Ulquiorra - rather, Stark for suggesting it - was right. Between my liver incident and the months that followed, I realized that there was no way that I, or Ulquiorra, or even the two of us together, could have handled what happened on our own.

* * *

I, and Ulquiorra too, were grateful for the donations, for the gifts, for the prayers. My cancer probably wasn't, as my condition went up and down, up and down, like a roller coaster with lots of rises and drops. Sometimes I'd be well enough so that I could go home with Ulquiorra and spend a few weeks sleeping in my own bed, sleeping with him, eating in my own kitchen, etc. etc., and other times I'd be so damn sick that I'd have to stay in the hospital for months at a time, sharing a room with an unfamiliar person, watching people come and go, clicking channels and watching soap operas because there was nothing better on TV. Ulquiorra took a lot of work off then. I was grateful for it, because he filled my time, filled my day, made the days go faster.

Ulquiorra prayed for me. And I prayed for him. And the people of the community prayed for both of us. Prayed that I would live, get better, prayed that Ulquiorra wouldn't be scarred or heartbroken by the whole thing if it did come out for the worse. We must have spent days praying. But it was all something to do, something to make us feel better, something that made us believe that we would come out of this alive and happy.

* * *

I suppose the days of prayer weren't quite enough.

Or, in retrospect, perhaps God got so freaking annoyed of our praying that he just decided to put me out of my misery.

Or, in another option, perhaps God did answer our prayers. Just not in the way we'd expected.


	6. Pure Poetry

**Sorry I've been gone for so long.**

* * *

After my Liver Incident, I was hospitalized for the longest time. It was like jail. When I was in there, in that stark white hospital room staring at the wall, at the flickering images on TV, I could hardly keep any food down and had to be on an IV drip. I was drugged up, I accepted blood transfusions. I lost weight. A ton of weight. I lost 20 pounds in less than a month. I was grateful that the community was helping us, and I was grateful for what they were doing for us. For me. For Ulquiorra. But, I mean, it's kind of hard to express your gratitude to these people when you're sitting in a bed and all you have the strength to do is go around and click channels and occasionally say a few things to the doctors, like "I'm feeling good." "No, it hurts." "I want to see Ulquiorra." That kind of stuff.

Now, recalling this incident makes me feel really guilty, especially because it was on his birthday. Two months after my Liver Incident. Yeah. That's how important it was to Ulquiorra. So important that he was enticed to capitalize it. And what made me feel even more guilty was that he was there to watch me slowly die. No. I didn't admit that I was dying. But I knew it. And I think he knew it too.

My fevers went up and down. I was on at least a seven on the pain scale of one to ten. (It was probably higher than that, but I didn't want to worry Ulquiorra. I didn't want him to get lines between his eyebrows.) Of course, he probably worried. But whatever.

So here's what happened.

I lay down on the table for my CT scan. It was Ulquiorra's birthday. I wanted to give him the world. I wanted to give him everything. But I couldn't. Because of my condition, and because of what else happened that day. I vaguely remember looking up at him and smiling like I was drunk through my fever. I remember holding his hand, looking for something, anything, to show that he cared. That he loved me. That he wouldn't leave me. That everything was going to be okay.

I went into the chamber. The female voice told me to "Breathe in." I breathed in. And then it went black.

* * *

When I woke up a few hours later, Ulquiorra wasn't in the room. I felt like a child. Lost, insecure, afraid that I was being abandoned. A few moments after that, when my heart rate started to drive up, like I was having a panic attack, Ulquiorra came back in. There were tears on his face, both old and new, and there were more clinging to his eyelashes. Through hiccuping sobs, he told me what had happened.

Apparently, both my lungs collapsed when I breathed in. The doctors rushed in and restored my breathing using a breathing tube. My brain didn't suffer from the temporary oxygen loss, and the cancer on my liver had apparently grown since the last surgeries to stop my internal bleeding. But I was bleeding. Again. My liver had increased in size and was squashing my other organs. I coughed up the breathing tube and was put on High Flow Oxygen through a nose tube. My heart rate was around 130-170, like I was constantly working out. And it sucked. At that point, I just wanted to die already. I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to hold my breath in long enough that I passed out, and then I wanted to keep holding my breath until I died.

But I couldn't do that. No. Not for me. For Ulquiorra. I had to keep on living for Ulquiorra.

* * *

The stuff that Ulquiorra put up on our blog don't show what I went through. Well, they show it, but not the mass enormity of it. I know, it sounds like I'm being conceited about what I went through. But it's true. I was in so much pain, I wanted to kill myself. Suicide by strangulation by white hospital sheets. Ripping off the ventilator, suffocating myself to death.

With Ulquiorra, with my testicular cancer, I found God. Not Buddha, not Allah, but God. I became religious.

Through all of this, Ulquiorra was strong. Stronger than I could ever be. Even when we both knew I was dying. Here's one of the entries he wrote for our blog. Let me read it to you.

"Hey, you guys. It's me, Ulquiorra. Grimmjow is doing...well. Or as well as a struggling cancer patient can be. Thank you all for your support, your gifts, and your food (hospital food actually isn't that good, and God knows that Grimmjow could never survive on the same stew of beef mush, carrots, and peas), and most of all, your prayer. Without you guys praying for us, I don't think Grimmjow could have made it this far without it, and I probably would have gone insane if you guys hadn't prayed for my mental sanity. Grimmjow's getting some pretty intense treatment, but he's a fighter, all right. He doesn't have much energy, true, and at the end of the day, it takes all his stamina just to tell me he loves me. Just three words. 'I love you.' That drains him. But every morning, he's up again, fighting through the rest of the day, and together, we watch the day fade away to the moment where he tells me that he loves me. And then the cycle begins all over again.

"Grimmjow says that he wants to make more entries in this blog. He says I type really slowly. He wants to do more video entries, he says he doesn't care that he looks like an alien. He says he wants the world to know what he's going through, and that he says he wants to be a beacon of inspiration for cancer patients everywhere.

"Hey, you guys, if you have children, tell them how much you love them. If you have a spouse or a significant other, tell them you love them. Tell the world you love them. Stop the hatred, stop the suffering. Stop the pain. Even if only for a little while. Please, help us stop, for even a few moments, the pain and the sadness of this broken world. Because, all in all, it's the little joyful moments that matter. The moments that last five minutes and then pass. The moments that people cherish when they are suffering. Please help Team GJ create more of these moments. And most of all, LIVESTRONG."

* * *

Pure poetry.

Ulquiorra was whispering soft stanzas into my ears even while I passed away at home.


	7. Watching Us

**These events have happened in real life. However, the feelings of Grimmjow/aka my friend may not be completely accurate as I have not experienced this myself. I am writing this from the view of a stander-by. **

**By the way, participating in a LIVESTRONG event in your community is a great way to help those in need, and especially for those with cancer or terminal diseases. You could grant a wish from the Grant A Wish foundation. You could "adopt" a child from Africa and support them for only 30 dollars a month. This is basically a dollar a day, where they get fed, clothed, and have all their other needs attended to. Think of the genocide in Sudan going on right now. Surely you can spare 30 dollars a month to help an African child who is hungry, thirsty, and wondering where they're going to get their next meal. Help the world, you guys! You'll feel good about yourself and you'll be helping somebody too!**

**

* * *

**

I didn't want to admit that I knew I was going to die. I knew it was going to happen. I mean, there was no way out of it. I got worse with every passing day, and no matter how much me and Ulquiorra and the community and the doctors prayed and tried and hoped, God didn't answer our prayers. Or, well, he answered them, but just not in the way we'd hoped he would. I constantly had fevers, I had a lot more episodes, and I was on a lot more drugs than I usually was. My weight dropped like a ten-pound bucket down an empty well. I was dying, and all of us knew it. But nobody said it. Nobody wanted to say it out loud, for fear that it would be absolutely final.

Stark had told me, when Ulquiorra was sleeping, "Listen, Grimmjow, I hate to break this to you, man, but you've got a twenty percent chance of survival. Maybe even less. There's not much hope that you'll get out of this."  
"How long will I live? What's your estimate?" I asked him.  
"Three more months. But...I'll admit it, you're like no other patient I've ever seen. You're pretty damn fascinating. You just might be able to pull through all of this with very little consequence. Sure, you probably won't be able to do some of the things that men of your age normally do, like go out and play football with the guys. You might not be able to do extreme contact sports, and...well, you'll need to grow your hair back of course, unless you suddenly decide that going bald suits you, but you might not be able to do any of the extreme stuff. Considering all of the things you've been through, I would have expected you to have been dead two months ago. But here you are, and you're still going strong. You've got a tremendous will to live, I'll give you that. You could be the next medical miracle. You know, surviving against all odds. Like the car crash victims who end up with a pole going through their head that doesn't go through any fatal part of the brain and they get out of the hospital a few weeks later perfectly fine except with a scar on their forehead. You know, that's like, a one in a twenty thousand chance. You could be the next medical miracle. Some of those people survive. You could be one of the lucky ones, and with your will, I wouldn't be surprised if you were."

* * *

I desperately wanted that medical miracle. I wanted it so badly, that I tasted it every day with my pills. I wanted this for me, for Ulquiorra, for the hospital, for LIVESTRONG, for everybody who had helped me get this far.

I was really clingy during that time. I was desperately scared that Ulquiorra was going to leave me. That he was going to leave me because I was sick, because I had cancer and I was ugly and malnourished and bald and he didn't want me anymore. That he wanted the Grimmjow that was strong, that had abs, that had muscle, that had HAIR, that wasn't sick. I never told him about my thoughts, because I didn't want him to worry any more than he already had been. But somehow, I think he knew. Maybe I was sleeptalking or something. I don't know. But I really did think he was going to leave him and I was afraid. I really did think he was going to leave me because I couldn't really do anything other than prop myself up on my elbow and kiss him from time to time.

I didn't fall out of love with him. I fell more in love with him than I ever had before. I think it takes a lifechanging experience to make you love and appreciate someone even more than you already have. Ulquiorra was brave. He was strong. He was a lot more than what he looked like, and I admired that. He was selfless. He was courageous. He was a lifesaver.

One time he asked me how I was feeling.

"I'm very sad for all that has happened to me."  
"Are you depressed?"  
"No."  
"Why do you say that?"  
"Well, isn't depression where you get all sad and cave in because you're so sad and wallowing in self pity?"  
"Yes."  
"Yeah. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be some...I don't know, depressed emo sob who cuts himself because the sadness overtakes him. Isn't that what LIVESTRONG is all about? Isn't that what I'M all about? Heck, if I was depressed, Ora-kun, I'd be a disgrace to LIVESTRONG. Yeah, sure, I could be depressed and feel sorry for myself; I could also stay positive and trust that the outcome of this, whatever it may be, will be for the best. I'll choose the second option, because...you know, it's too damn hard to be depressed, right?"

He said I was selfless. But I really wasn't. I really wanted him to stay with me, and those words just came out. Because I had no idea what to say. Because I wanted to say something of pure poetry to him so that he would stay with me. From one poet to another.

"So then why are you sad?"  
"I'm sad for you. I'm sad for my family and everybody else that knew me and actually liked me. I mean, yeah, it's hard actually going through the treatment, but at least it's only a physical pain. Everybody else has to feel emotional pain. I think emotional pain is a helluva lot more worse than physical. And I'm sorry I make you sad. I don't mean to."

* * *

I remember we made a promise to each other on the day when we officially became a couple. That promise was that we wouldn't say "I love you" to one another unless we actually, truly meant it. We're not like some of those other couples that go around saying I love you every five minutes just to reassure their partner that it's really real. We believe that if you have to say it every five minutes to make it real, then it's not really real.

Anyway, one day I was about to go off to sleep in the ICU because I was seriously tired. You know, druggie here. Meds kill your alertness. I had a fever that day, but, then again, when did I not? I reached out for Ulquiorra's hand, and I remember wondering if he had stuck his hands in the refrigerator. They were really cold, and I was almost tempted to pull mine away. But I didn't.

"Hey, Ora," I murmured.

"Yes?" he asked.  
"I wanna tell you something."

"Yes, Grimmjow?" The room had gone totally quiet, and this vaguely reminded me of a dramatic scene in General Hospital. I almost wanted to laugh, but I thought that would ruin the moment.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Those were the last words I heard from him before I went off to La-La Land, grinning like a maniac.

* * *

Before I died, I really liked to watch sunsets. Those beautiful clouds turning a golden color, and then a pale pink, and then purple as the sun sank below the horizon. I loved watching them. On the day where my soul was flying up, up, and higher still, I remember looking down below and seeing one of the most beautiful sunsets I had ever seen. I remember looking down on my body and Ulquiorra. I remember seeing tears track down his face, tracing his scars, and I remember seeing the sad smile that crossed his face. As if he knew I was there, watching him. Watching us.


	8. See You Soon

I made it to twenty-seven. Our families and friends came and gave me presents and wished me the best of health. But at that point, I already knew. I already knew that I wouldn't live through this, knew that I wouldn't live much longer. I had two more months left, by the doctor's estimates. And I didn't say anything. I didn't want anybody to worry.

My birthday was really special because I knew then, that people really did care about me. I guess I always took it for granted. I guess it takes something life changing like this to really wake you up to see the world as it really is.

I'd always wanted to go to Disneyland, regardless of the country. Heck, you could take me to Disneyland in Paris, and even though everyone would be speaking rapid fire French there, I wouldn't care. I just wanted to go to Disneyland. But I knew that in my condition, there was no way we were going to go. I couldn't walk three steps without running out of breath, getting tunnel vision, or dropping to my knees because my legs couldn't hold my weight.

Instead, Ulquiorra asked Wonderwice to go to Disneyland and tape it. The kid used up all the memory on the card, and I watched every second of it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ulquiorra watching, a quiet smile on his face. It felt as if a little ray of sunshine had walked into the room and decided to stay.

* * *

Ulquiorra came to my room after he went to the store one day. He had a large stack of origami paper with him. He began making paper cranes.

"What are you doing?"  
"Making cranes."  
"I'm not blind. I can see. Why?"  
"You know, there's a legend that says if you make a thousand origami birds and hang it up in a sick person's room, they'll get better."

I began to help him. I think we were both trying to find a distraction for the day we knew would eventually come. It was a distraction for him so he wouldn't have to cry. It was a distraction for me so I could keep my mind off the pain, off the guilt, off the agony.

Even though Stark and Kaien didn't say anything, even though Ulquiorra kept trying to convince me that I would get better and we would have a happy life together, I knew that it wasn't about trying to save me anymore. It was about trying to help me live longer so I would have more days with Ulquiorra. Stark and Kaien's eyes would always drop when they were talking to me, and Ulquiorra's arguments had only halfhearted conviction, and I knew that they didn't believe I would get better. And I didn't believe it either. Inside, I had already given up hope.

* * *

I remember, I had the most touching conversations with Ulquiorra.

"Hey, Ora."  
"What's up, love?"  
"What're you gonna do after I'm gone?"

"Don't say that."  
"It's true."  
"I don't care if it is. Don't jinx yourself."

"But really. What are you gonna do when I'm gone?"  
"...I suppose it's not a question of what I'm going to do, but what YOU want me to do, isn't it?"  
"Maybe....I'd miss you."

"I'd miss you, too."

"But I'd like you to be happy, too, so if you found someone else, that would be okay with me."

"...We'll see how I feel if that time comes around, how's that, sweetheart?"  
"Don't kill yourself, though. Or get all depressed and shit. Because that would suck, and it's not good for you."  
"I know. I won't."

* * *

People began not to care as much the last few months of my illness. I had gone through so many ordeals with this cancer, that I guess everybody lulled themselves into a false sense of security and began to think that I was suffering, but I was invincible.

The only things I could do then were sit propped up by my pillows, and click channels. I couldn't even stay awake for House or 24 or even Jeopardy. Since I wasn't having any more major episodes, I had been dispatched so I could stay at home. I knew, and everybody else knew, that soon the last straw that broke the camel's back would come and fall down soon. It was getting close to the end. I didn't want to accept it. Nobody else did, either.

October went to November, and then to December. A lot of people, including me, were surprised I hadn't croaked yet. And I knew that the people of Japan were waiting for an amazing turnaround or a depressing death.

I wasn't looking for a turnaround. I kind of already knew I was too far gone for that.

* * *

I was surprised I'd lived until Christmas. I was supposed to have died a month ago. I woke up early, and Ulquiorra was already awake, looking at me, the nurse by his side. I smiled at him. I felt the strain, the energy it took for me to smile, and I knew that today would be the day.

"Merry Christmas," he said, smiling lightly at me.  
"Merry Christmas to you, too."

He placed a sheet of bright blue origami paper in my hands. This would be the 999th one. Ulquiorra would fold the last one. I smiled quietly, and my hands began to make the motion of folding the crane. My hands felt heavy, and the paper felt heavy, and I knew I wasn't creasing it right, wasn't making the points sharp enough. But I couldn't do anything about that.

I finished the crane and looked up at him. In the distance, I saw the clock.

It was blurry, but I could vaguely make it out. 11:44 AM.

"Ulquiorra. Love you."

And I don't remember anything else but black, and the sound of Ulquiorra's soft sobbing.

* * *

I wish I had more time.

I hope Ulquiorra heals.

I hope to see you soon.


End file.
